Chromatic Myotis
by AnathemasCurse
Summary: Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne can be seen as friendship or more. Tony sees the dark side of reinvention of oneself, while a dark force heads his way. X-Over with Ironman with another guest appearance.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own either of the millionaire playboys or their alter egos.

**Chromatic/Myotis**

"Mmph….dammit that _hurts_."

"Serves you right. Trying to run through a volley of bullets in a cape and partial Kevlar, keyword partial, suit is pretty stupid, even by my standards. I haven't even started stitching yet."

"Like you know how to do anything that doesn't involve projectiles…Speaking of which wouldn't have been fired if you had let me handle the situation. I was in a perfect position to apprehend them and you had to blow my cover!"

"Last time I checked, my city, my collar. You would say the same if we were in Gotham right now. Hold still, this is gonna hurt…..Maybe if you had let me know your real intentions in Malibu I wouldn't have interfered."

Bruce said nothing to this last comment. The man was right, and not for the first time since he had known him. Wincing as Tony stitched the wound in his shoulder, he tried not to notice the look of concern in his eyes as they skimmed over the other various scars on his body. Tony chided him accordingly.

"With all the money you have, it can't be too hard to get a better suit, you know. Jesus, Bruce, some of these look like they nearly killed you!"

"And? I learn from my mistakes, Tony. Same as you did. A man's suit shouldn't make up for his inability to fight with his fists or feet. Or mind, for that matter."

"Sorry if I actually want to feel somewhat secure running headlong into a fight, Brucey. For a while there, I thought I was the reckless one. Alright, it's done."

Bruce went to flex his arm, and immediately regretted it. The stitches held, but the pain was immense, and he couldn't ignore the black spots dancing in his vision. From behind, he could hear Tony say something, but it sounded strange, fuzzy. A pair of arms reached out to support him. He allowed himself to fall into the embrace as the threatening darkness attempted to pull him under. His weakness was the only thing to cross his mind as the pain got the better of him.

Tony sighed, and hefted Bruce's prone form over his shoulder. Of the two, Bruce had always been the one to push himself harder. When they had been younger and Tony more naïve, he had based this on a general lack of intelligence compared to his own. The two had always harbored mixed feelings towards one another, and a lack of understanding had flourished as well.

Tony was well aware of Bruce's situation; orphaned at the tender age of eight by a violent crime, raised in useless splendor afterwards by the loyal family butler and no friends. It was a perfect scenario for any pity party, but Bruce never took the bait. He had gone to private school, then to college for a few years, and then pulled a disappearing act for a good 10 years or so. Tony could remember seeing a picture of him after his return. His eyes had a look to them. Not quite haunted, but it was like something had been wrenched out and replaced in a rather messy fashion. He hadn't thought any more on the matter, and had issued an obligatory statement of thanks for his safe return to the press when asked. That was three years ago. That was before Batman.

However, before he could even think about the matter, he had his own little metaphorical pothole to slip into. Of course, he was out of the Middle East in less than a year, with the mental blueprints for a better future to boot. Iron Man was in service only a month or so after he got back. Within a year, Tony had reinvented himself in every way, and had faced and conquered a formidable opponent. But then again, Tony was a genius.

That didn't mean Bruce wasn't smart, per se. There was just always a need to immerse himself in whatever he did. Maybe that could explain the length of time away from home. Either that or escape. But Bruce wasn't the type to run from anything. He had stared down the barrel of that thief's gun and long after he had fled; Tony had a feeling his gazed remained fixed up until the cops arrived.

Shaking away his reverie, Tony set Bruce down on his bed. The man was lighter than he was, but the feel of toned muscle beneath his careful hands earlier had reminded him of those years away. That and the stillness of his voice, as though the problem wasn't getting shot at but having Iron Man mess up his investigation. Tony was well aware of his mortality, he had been on the brink of death, he still was; a number of things could stop the glow in his chest. Obadiah had made him realize that early on. Of course, he was much more careful now. But Bruce was different.

Bruce didn't have a magnet that could last fifty lifetimes in his chest. He didn't have anything there anymore. Just a flesh organ. And since he had returned, Tony had put off seeing him for that reason. Though the two had always had a tumultuous relationship, at least there was passion, emotion, and feeling. None of that anymore. Bruce had sacrificed his soul and body to the dark knight.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these playboys.

AN: This is kind of a bigger picture of chapter one and a lead into chapter three and the rest of the story

Tony wasn't sure what woke him; perhaps his hero's sixth sense. Snorting derisively, he rose from the couch he wound up on, his first instinct (and one he had learned only recently) to check on his 'patient'. Had he not cared about the man, he would've scoffed to himself.

Batman was no patient. His mortal prowess only created them out of the otherwise brutal criminals of Gotham. Alfred probably had to deal with the same attitude back home, Tony mused, as he opened the door to his room. And realized it looked as though no one had been there at all. Any sign of excess blood from last night was wiped clean, and there was nary a ripple on the comforter. There was, however, a note on the pillow, set as though out of mid air. No wrinkles showed around it.

_It was just a scratch. I'll be at Twisted Paths Winery for a benefit later this evening. _

_-Bruce_

Stark smiled wryly. If there was one quality he admired in both the man and the Bat it was his stubbornness. But at least he gave a hint this time instead of waiting for something bad to happen. Tony had only just found out last night about the other side of his friend.

_The Batman leaned against a wall, the visible half of his face a picture of frustration and pain. Iron Man had just taken out the criminals that hadn't fled, but that wasn't what aggravated him. The Butcher of the Bayous had evaded him once more. He had been right in that warehouse before red gold and bold decided to make the loudest possible entrance. And when he did, the slimy bastard was the first one out. Batman had chosen that time to strike, only to be shot at by not only Iron Man, but the remaining cohorts. This rapidly changed as well when said goons realized they weren't shooting at the metal man, who was ready before they could take aim._

_Once he caught up to the dark knight, he couldn't help but pause. Though he wasn't made of metal, his presence was still formidable. The emblem, a dark relief upon the armored chest, the eared cowl, the billowing cape, blacker than the wing of a crow. The aura of menace about him was well earned. But none of that mattered right now. He was in iron man's territory. Stepping forward with the assertiveness of an alpha wolf, Tony spoke though the helmet._

"_What are you doing here? Gotham's your area."_

"_That was where he last operated out of. I don't know why he's here now, but that's where I have to be…shit."_

"_Were you hit? We need to get you to a hospital."_

_As soon as those words were uttered, the other figure tensed defensively, glaring at him through the mask. And Tony felt stupid for what he just said. Sure, he had no problem admitting _he _was a superhero, but not everyone was as comfortable as he was. And Batman seemed just fine with keeping a sheet of steel wool over the eyes of Gotham. The least Iron man could do was respect that wish. He did have some medical equipment in the lab anyway. The prospect of another individual like himself seeing his 'base' unnerved him a little, for some odd reason. Human nature, he supposed. Turning to the dark knight, he spoke reassuringly._

"_Listen, there's medical equipment in my, well, whatever you would call it. I'll give you a hand, on one condition. You have to show me your face."_

_The batman cocked his head almost imperceptibly. It was an odd request, but he understood why. He was entering Iron man's lair. It was only fair, it was leverage. He had seen the broadcast of Tony Stark's admission of his other life, but that did nothing to abate his distrust of the man. As far as he was concerned, the other billionaire was his polar opposite. And he had no qualms with killing. But he could tell the other man could sense his dilemma. He hadn't brought the equipment he needed should this happen. He would have to curse his incompetence later. Shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly in submission, he turned to face Iron man fully, and disabling the electrical charge, he removed his cowl._

_There was an audible gasp from the other man, and Bruce rolled his eyes. _

"_Bruce Wayne? _You're_ batman?! But you…you're just a-"_

"_Billionaire playboy? Come on Tony, you really think you're the only one who uses all that money for something more? Yes, I'm batman. Now can we please leave? I'm losing patience _and _blood now."_

"_Well, if you're gonna give me attitude Brucey…"_

_Even with the cowl off, the glare Bruce shot Tony gave him the chills. The man had changed since the last time they talked face to face, and it clearly showed. There were no snarky remarks or cracks. The bat was all business, and fun seemed more of a hindrance than a perk. If there was any humanity to be found in the man, it was in his opposition to killing. That factor both comforted and unnerved Iron man. Rather than kill, he would resort to torture if he needed to do the job. But why wouldn't he just snuff some scumbag? Was it to keep up his image as a hero? Even heroes killed. Only if they absolutely had to, of course, but it happened. Just not to Batman. He _had_ been blamed for the deaths of the cops and Dent in the wake of the Joker's rampage, but there were rumors pointing to the deceased attorney. _

"_By the way, how'd you get here in the first place?"_

"_Motorcycle. I don't know about you, but the tumbler might raise a few questions," He answered with a quirked brow. "And if you're wondering, it's not the first time I've had to bring the suit with me on business."_

_Sparing him another weird look, Tony slipped his own faceplate back into place. Bruce was right about the blood loss. Though he was keeping a good amount of pressure on the wound, they needed to act fast. _

"_You know I can carry-"_

"_I know how to get there."_

_And they were off. The trip was relatively short, even with the motorcycle. Bruce knew his way around better than Tony had assumed. Dismounting with as much grace as he could manage, he followed Stark to a nearby table._

It had been strange. He had seen pictures, video footage of Bruce being a total moron, a clueless heir. But the man he treated last night was sharper than the shrapnel in his chest, and twice as dangerous. Powerful muscle rippled beneath the canvas of bruises. His eyes, which had seemed empty in all the photographs, were a maelstrom, their depths dark and unreadable.

Though Tony was Iron man, nearly indestructible in the suit, he was only human when he was out of it. The only part seemed undeniable as he worked on Bruce. Though he himself wasn't in bad shape, he could tell Bruce did more than just 'work out' like most guys did. Martial arts weren't just a hobby, they were nearly a religion. But there were also the weapons he had heard about. He knew the other billionaire was doing more than sightseeing while he was away all those years, but he wasn't aware of how much more.

He dialed Pepper from his cell. She had more dress sense then he did, among other things. And for some odd reason, he felt a need to really impress. Suppressing an urge to look at his own build in a mirror, he grabbed a cup of coffee. It was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own The Crow, IronMan, or Batman.

A/N: I've always wanted to do a crossover between batman and the Crow, and I hope is appearance doesn't bother my readers. Also, this is where the story kicks off a little more.

Staring out at the glowing skyline, Bruce felt a twinge of homesickness. Not for the lavish lifestyle everyone presumed he lived, but for the thrill of the hunt. Until he left, he would respect Tony's dominance in this realm. But he wouldn't take Tony lording it over him. Truth be told, it almost seemed as though Tony treated their shared profession as some kind of publicity stunt, a joke. Sure, he got the job done, but there was an air immaturity about his personality that irked Bruce to no end. How could one enjoy what they did when they were capable of single handedly destroying a city block? Glory was probably one reason, he supposed. He just couldn't wrap his head around any other reason.

He was sure Tony would have a number of comebacks if he spoke his thoughts; he wouldn't listen to them. He knew his purpose. He didn't fight for profit or pleasure. He sought justice constantly. Gotham was neither glamorous nor bright. It was cold, dark and filled to the brim with criminals and lowlifes of every make. It wasn't the kind of place where happy couples went for their honeymoons, where retirees retreated to before the end. It was a place of necessity for the working class, the everyman who didn't mind dealing with a gang or two on his way home from work. The feudal era could often be attributed to his home; peasants cowering in fear while the insanely rich lived in luxury, ignoring their pleas. The Dark Knight was their savior, while Bruce Wayne one more of the nobility.

As was Stark, who, like Bruce, had no problem living it up. But letting the public know who he was? It was madness. Not a day went by where Bruce didn't think about the consequences of what could happen should he divulge the truth about Batman. But when you have a super powered suit, he supposed it was ok to let people know who you really were. No need to worry about a full blown assault.

Sighing, he turned away from the balcony, the canvas of the city aglow in the moonlight. He felt so caged it was driving him insane. That and the fact that the criminal he was there to apprehend was right under his nose. Something told him he needed to catch this man. Even when he was fleeing the scene he felt somehow…unnerved. He didn't even know that much about him save for the three murders he committed in Gotham.

He was about to grab the suit he planned to wear for the evening when he felt another presence in the room. A familiar one. Turning sharply, he bit back a cry when he saw the mismatched blue eyes on the grimly painted face.

"Hello Bruce," he greeted dully, crouched on the ledge. His face was the same as it had been the last time they had seen each other, sans bloodstains. The Joker's twin, several papers had labeled him. He was dressed in black, as usual, a katana fastened to his belt. Smiling warmly, he got down.

"…Eric. What are you doing here?" Bruce was thunderstruck. The last time he had seen the dead man, he was certain he had truly returned to the afterlife. Unless the Crow was feeling chaotically mischievous.

"The man's name was Top Dollar. Somehow he got out of hell, and now I have to bring him back. Besides, I wasn't very welcome when I got home last time," He answered, shooting Bruce a dark glare as he walked over to him, towering over him ever so slightly.

"We went through this already Eric. I can't let you terrorize my city because of one mistake. I can't let you kill indiscriminately for the sake of one person. "

"Well, I guess it's a good thing he's in Malibu right now then. Hate to have to deal with Batman over a few dead rapists and former crime boss. Be seeing you." And with that, he glided out of the room as though he had wings. Relaxing a little, Bruce suddenly cursed himself.

What were the odds of three crime fighters in one city?


End file.
